Of Heathcliff and Rochester
by Authorwithoutaquill
Summary: The villagers said he was cold-hearted and ruthless, unforgiving and had a mighty temper. The grandson of a Countess, he always lived alone, never let anyone into his home and inspired fear in the hearts of people everywhere he went. He was a loner too - exiled himself from society to repent for his sins, or so the tale went. What those sins were exactly, no one could recall of cou


_The man ran headlong into the fire as she watched, helpless. Ashes flew in all directions, choking her, making her eyes well up, although she knew it was more from worry than the flames._

 _"John! John, come back! This is too dangerous!"_

 _He didn't listen. All she could see was the back of the leather jacket he always wore as the fire swallowed him up. He wouldn't come out._

 _She broke down, sobbing, scratching at the cement beneath her, wailing loudly, uncaring of who heard or saw her._

 _The building to the right side of the street exploded in a violent burst of flames. Shattered glass flew everywhere and the world was overcome by darkness._

Rose swore. She stubbed her little toe twice already and was about to start breaking things if she didn't find a match real soon. The power cut came at the worst possible moment - she was at the most interesting part of the book when the lights all went out.

"Typical. I can find the booze, but I haven't got any candles for emergencies, do I? Should have listened to Shareen about getting those lighters…"

She was mumbling angrily to herself and trying not to hit any more objects in the dark while making her way to the window. She closed the curtains a few hours earlier when the sun sank down below the hills. As a result, the whole living room was in total darkness.

There were no immediate neighbors beside her home, but she still didn't like to leave the windows uncovered at night. Rose lived right on the edge of town (if you could call it a town); her house was the last one that still belonged to the settlement. It was far removed from the rest of the village, and was perfect for her needs of peace and quiet. She moved there just a few months ago, having quit her job at the law firm, trying to escape the choking atmosphere of London. She worked too much, that was true, but she was never particularly fond of the city to begin with. So to Gallifrey she came.

It was a sleepy little village with barely more than a thousand residents, established some four hundred years ago in a vale next to the west coast. All in all it was a quiet and peaceful town and would do wonders for her nerves - or so she thought when she rented out her small house.

Rose was right on the edge of the village - from then on it was only countryside up until the sea joined the grassy cliffs at the shore, only sporadically dotted with farmers' cottages. She had to walk fifteen minutes to get into town and had no desire to make the journey in the current weather. There was a storm coming, she could already hear the pitiful wails of the wind outside and the creaking of the gates at the end of the garden path. Her reluctance to exit her comfortable - and presently still warm - living room did not change the fact however that she had no candles and precious little to keep herself warm with. All in all, not a nice situation to be in just before an approaching storm.

With a sigh she thought of the old mansion up the hill. Even though she shared the grounds with the owner of the mansion, she never actually saw him before. People in town had all kinds of tales about the man who lived there. The villagers said he was cold-hearted and ruthless, unforgiving and had a mighty temper. The grandson of a Countess, he always lived alone, never let anyone into his home and inspired fear in the hearts of people everywhere he went. He was a loner too - exiled himself from society to repent for his sins, or so the tale went. What those sins were exactly, no one could recall of course.

Rose was sure the villagers were exaggerating, but the descriptions ignited her imagination and she formed a picture of the mysterious man not unlike the protagonists of Bronte novels. The fact that she never met him only served to fuel her game of make-believe until she was entirely certain that Heathcliff himself lived up the hill, just five minutes from her own dwelling.

She saw signs of occupation only twice in the five months she'd spent in Gallifrey. Once there was a window open on the second floor, sometime back in June, and there was a light in the kitchen (or rather where Rose imagined the kitchen would be) just yesterday evening. Although there was no sign of movement today, so the master of the house could well be already gone. It was worth a try in any case. She didn't feel like sitting in the dark and cold until dawn and there was a full moon tonight, so she knew she could make her way up to the mansion without trouble.

Rose put on her warmest coat (which wasn't much against the October wind) and started up the hill, jumping slightly every time the wind knocked the tree branches together. She could hear a high-pitched wailing she was sure had nothing to do with the elements and wondered whether coming out at the time of full moon was really wise.

"Pull yourself together, Rose!" she scoffed, trying to gain some courage from the sound of her own voice. "You've read too many books, that's your problem!"

She could hear a strange howling in the distance and broke into a run, the mask of calm she tried so hard to put on all but forgotten.

"Mum always said dreamin' won't take me anywhere. Well, she was wrong. It took me to a creepy old mansion, in the middle of the night, at a full moon," she panted while trying to avoid stray bats. "Okay, right. Got you mum!"

She left the path behind a while ago and was now running blind between the trees, trying to catch her breath and reach the house simultaneously. Rose had no idea which direction she was going in, but in her sheer panic all she cared about was getting out into the open once more. She didn't notice the sound of hooves or the barks of a dog over the blood pounding in her ears, so it took her very much by surprise when a man on horseback appeared on the path. So much so that all she could do was shriek and fall back clumsily, landing on her back in the middle of the path. Unfortunately the horse was still going full throttle and wasn't going to be able to stop in time. Rose closed her eyes and waited for the darkness to claim her.

It didn't come.

Instead she heard a thud and loud swearing coming from her left. She opened her eyes, scrambling to her feet as fast as she could while observing what became of the rider. As it turned out the horse threw his rider off and was now lying on the damp grass beside the gravel path. The man himself was trapped underneath the animal, cursing loudly and wincing with pain as he attempted to get up. His dog meanwhile gave short, shrill barks, running to and fro between herself and the stranger.

Not Heathcliff then, but Rochester.

"Are you alright?" asked Rose in a surprisingly strong voice all previous events considered.

"The deuce I'm alright! Horse is lyin' on my leg. It's most probably broken. How on Earth would I be alright?"

His answer quickly dissolved into a string of swearwords as he tried to get the horse to move. Finally managing it, he stood up with some difficulty and Rose could see him fully for the first time.

She immediately decided that he'd indeed make a very good Rochester. He wasn't exactly pretty - not by conventional standards. The stranger had closely cropped dark hair, a somewhat angular face - all shadows and sharp lines -, eyebrows knitted together in a deep scowl and a profile of a Roman Emperor. All in all, not a very encouraging countenance as far as first impressions went. The eyes told a different tale however. They were the bluest Rose had ever seen and there was something decidedly warm about them, even when their owner was angry, like he was just now. She felt like she could get lost in those eyes without trying, and decided to study them a bit more - see if she could memorize them enough to paint a portrait. Her mystery man had a very compelling face, if not exactly pretty. The lips were quite sensuous too, but she didn't have much time to observe them; the stranger was talking to her, she realized with a start.

"I beg your pardon?"

He rolled his eyes impatiently and repeated gruffly, "I asked if you could perhaps assist me in bringing my horse in a closer proximity to the rock I'm sitting on?"

He almost growled the last words and Rose had to hide her smile, trying not to antagonize him further.

"What's the name of the dog?"

"What? Oh. Jack. His name's Jack."

Well, almost. Rose guessed it would have been too perfect if the dog's name was Pilot.

She approached the horse carefully, expecting it to bolt or try to chew her hand at the very least. Surprisingly, it not only stayed still, but whinnied and pushed his nose into her hand, inviting her to pet him. She laughed and grabbed his reins, leading him to his master.

"There you go," she addressed the stranger. "All ready to head home. Come 'ere Jack. Come on!"

The dog jogged to her obediently, sniffing her outstretched hand while the stranger mounted his horse with a groan.

"Thank you. It would have been quite painful to walk up the hill with a broken leg."

His eyes were decidedly friendlier and were presently perusing her features freely, now that he wasn't occupied with his predicament anymore.

Rose blushed and curtsied slightly to hide her embarrassment, smiling up at him shyly. He returned her smile and turned his horse around, ready to go when a thought crossed his mind.

"And who are you? I forgot to ask before."

Struck by sudden inspiration which she later blamed on the moonlight and the strange autumn wind, she bowed again and replied with a tongue-touched smile, "I am the governess."

His eyes flickered with surprise, then realization and he laughed - a rich, golden, full sound that sent a slow heat blossoming in the pit of her stomach.

"Ah, the governess! Deuce take me, if I had not forgotten. The governess."

Rose's mouth opened in astonishment, then a laugh - filled with sunshine, honey and autumn promises - escaped her too. She shook her head and grinned up at him.

He seemed to hesitate then, but his expression softened a moment later and he asked, "May I be of assistance, Miss Governess? This is hardly the weather for a midnight stroll."

In that moment Rose realized her original purpose in heading for the mansion once more and blushed a deep crimson.

"Oh yes. You could be, actually. You see, I live just down below, in the little cottage by the gates. I didn't have any candles and the electricity went out, so I thought I'd ask for some. From you. If it's not too much bother," she finished somewhat clumsily.

"Not at all. Although perhaps you'd better stay for tonight in one of the guest rooms. The storm is fast approaching and I'd hate for you to be caught in the middle of it."

His eyes twinkled with hidden meaning as he held out a hand to her. She realized after a moment that he meant for her to sit on the horse behind him and shuddered.

"Erm… I don't ride."

"That's alright. You just grab my waist and hold on."

When she just eyed the horse skeptically, he rolled his eyes and added, "Or would you rather stay here in the dark while it rains on you?"

Rose shook her head, "Tell me your name."

He seemed to be caught off guard by her swift change of topic. He crossed his arms and didn't meet her eye as he replied, "People just call me the Doctor."

"Okay, but that's not your real name, is it?"

The stranger fiddled with the horse's mane a bit and didn't reply.

"Look, how do you expect me to trust you if you won't even tell me your name?"

"You're gonna laugh," he mumbled.

"I promise I'm not going to. But I'm not getting on that horse either until you tell me. Mine's Rose, by the way."

"Not Jane then?" he asked, eyes twinkling once more and a boyish smile stretching across his face.

"No, but I expect you're not called Edward either, and I'm not gonna spend my whole night guessing, so just tell me!"

"It's Darcy."

Rose tried to school her features into a somber expression as best as she could, but the laughter bubbled out of her against her will.

"Really? That's your name? Darcy? Is your middle name Fitzwilliam then? You're right, the Doctor IS better!"

"Told you. The old lady picked it when my mum couldn't decide. I bet she's laughing in her grave."

She shook her head and thought that the Countess must have had more humor than people gave her credit for. The Doctor helped her into the saddle gently, joining her hands at the front of his torso and urging the horse into a gallop. Jack ran after them with his tongue lolling in the wind.

"Well, if it's any consolation, my middle name's Elizabeth."

The Doctor laughed and shouted back, "We can put those candles to good use in the library then! I've got a few first editions I'm sure you'd be interested in."

Rose smiled and hid her face against his back, trying to avoid the wind and the rain that started to fall while they were arguing about names. As they rode up towards the mansion she heard so many tales about Rose thought that she might have found her own happy ending after all. At least she was determined to visit the grandson of the Countess more often from now on - unless the tales were true about him eating people. This thought amused her so much that she started to giggle.

"What's so funny then?"

"Nothing. I just thought I'll get you drunk one day and make you dress up in period clothes. You'd look very dashing in Darcy's overcoat."

"Haha." She could hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice and could imagine him rolling his eyes. It made her grin harder.

"I've got better ideas for when we get drunk."

"Yeah? And what would that be?"

"We dress up as the Frankenstein brothers and prove to the villagers that I'm a mad scientist."

Rose's laughter echoed through the valley as they arrived in front the house. Handing the horse's reins to Wilf - and elderly man employed by the Doctor to look after the stables - they entered the hall swiftly. In their merriment neither of them saw the lightning strike an ancient oak tree in the garden while they headed for the library.


End file.
